Fame sucks. It's hard to imagine wanting something so bad that I'd willingly lay myself open to the carnivorous ramora that attach themselves to the famous. Then again, I have no intention of going into the typical glamor fields that'd make me famous: Entertainment, Politics, Crime. I never want to hear my name emerging from Joan Rivers' mouth (she might keel over at the horror of how I was dressed, and then I'd feel bad). Even at less prominant levels - within your industry or community, relative fame changes the way people react to and interact with you.
I've been a member of Fantasy football leagues for a long time now, and I've never won. I've won my division. I've come in second more times than I care to admit. I am great at spotting breakout rookies, and yet I can not win. I've played in leagues with co-workers, with ex-coworkers, with family. I've been the only girl. I've been one of several girls. It doesn't matter - I can not win that final game. I suspect now that I won't achieve that goal before my discomfort with the shear amount of damage done to the players (and the indifference of the league to anything except reducing their liability) kills my interest.
Mine has had e-mail longer than I have, but I beat him to the web ... barely. He may be retired now, but he updates his website more often than I do! He's the one who bought me my first computer, taught me to use early early graphics packages on the Mac and PC, and thought it was awesome that I spent so much time on the computer.
Historically, this website has generated a lot of feedback - feedback ranging from demands that I do someone's homework to fantasticly off-base evaluations of what I must be like. There has also been a great feedback, too, of course, but the ridiculous does stick in one's mind.
Films and Flicks and Fluttering Images
I love going to the movies. I love the dimming lights, the previews, the silly pre-movie animations, the opening swell of music, and the most minor of credits. I love the collective intake of breath at a pivotal moment, and I love the way a good actor can make you forget you've slunk so low in your seat that your butt is almost ready to fall off to sleep. I miss reviewing movies (which I did for the college newspaper and for a short while on this site), and I miss the Academy of Music in Northampton, Vinegar Hill in Charlottesville, and the carpetted theater in Raleigh.
I have had many fish over the course of my lifetime - all kinds of goldfish - comets, ryukin, orandas, moors, fantails, non-goldies, redcaps, goldfish plain and fancy - I spent my summers in college trying to map which baby goldfish came from which parents. Not always easy! One of the first things I did when I bought my place in Northern Virginia was to petition the HOA to get permission to put a fishpond in my back yard along with a patio and walkway. That experience, which worked out in my favor, helped cement my plans to never live in a HOA-controlled neighborhood again.
Not. Good. Enough. I demand real snow storms with accumulating inches! If there isn't enough snow to make shovelling my walk worthwhile, it isn't snow. Bah.
Frankie and Johnny
This is my favorite song of all time. It's a murder ballad that is also a historical record of the attitudes and culture of all sorts of groups of people throughout the past century plus, with lyric variations to match. And it's fun to sing. I think I've heard over 60 different versions, and those are just the ones that have been put on tape and made easily accessible. I'm still looking for a physical copy of the one where Frankie shoots Johnny "just right of his thigh".
The woman can sing something fierce.
If I had a theme song it would be, "Everybody Wants to be an Art Director." Freberg is one of those underappreciated modern American geniuses - hysterically funny and remarkably clever, Freberg managed to raise the levels of both advertising and humor, skewering everything and everyone. He's voiced countless cartoons, created some of the best advertising around, and made some of the best radio comedy ever.
Sometimes when I look up out of the corner of my eye, the small, fabulously expensive windup frog that loiters on top of my monitor looks just like a head poking around my office door. It keeps me on my toes. I'm lucky to live in a very frog-friendly spot: we get bullfrogs and American toads; two kinds of tree frogs and Fowler's Toads, and several other varieties. I know spring has finally arrived when I can hear them warming up by the pond.
I miss him!
Words I particularly like: